The soft afternoon light illuminates where she lays,
the branches of the old tree sway beyond the glass.
The large clock stands in the corner,
a gift from her mother when they were married.
He hand-feeds her lunch,
prepared just as she likes it.
The smell of coffee fills the room,
a ready calm washes over her.
The aches began, on a day like this,
her diagnosis- an abrupt change in life’s direction.
At first, just a slight inconvenience,
as the years passed, became debilitating.
A pendulum between good days and bad days,
until they were only bad days.
Eventually good hours and bad hours,
until they were only bad hours.
The medication eased the pain but the aches lingered,
like waking from a bad dream.
A rosella appears at the sill,
with feathers so bright and charismatic.
He is mesmerised by the sight,
as it contemplates its next destination.
Its head twitches from side to side
then flutters off into a passing breeze.
She holds his hand,
they gaze into each other’s eyes.
The memories of a life together,
wrap around her like a tender embrace.
She gives a slight nod,
sadness encompasses the room.
He draws the liquid into the syringe,
as the doctor instructed.
The truth to be hidden,
from the prying eyes of the law.
He exhales a deep breath,
a long time coming.
It enters her bloodstream,
like a welcome stranger.
He lays down beside her,
arms holding on, with defiant emotion.
He’ll never comprehend her pain
but finds refuge that he’s able to ease her forever from it.
She closes her eyes in anticipation
and swims towards the darkness.
What was once a marvellous flame,
extinguished for all time.
A rhythm lost,
another passenger in the wind.
About the Creator
John Benedict Ryan
Just exploring my thoughts on paper, relayed to screen.
Little scenes of life entwined with my imagination.
Further writing/photos on my site if you would like to check it out- www.youshouldnttalktoyourself.com
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T H E I N U N D A T E D
I've forever had difficulty switching off. As long as I can remember my brain has been in overdrive. The thoughts would compound and breed into an uncontrollable life force of their own. I would lay awake at night and be overwhelmed with waves of ideas, my mind would dive down then reemerge only to dive once more. This would repeat endlessly until I had no other option but to interrupt the pattern by focusing on the lyrics of a song or by reading a novel. One of the many benefits of reading is that if you're truly concentrating on the words then it's impossible to think of anything else. If you are solely immersed in the text, then the fictional world will devour your actual world.
By John Benedict Ryan4 years ago in Filthy
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmas2 days ago in Horror
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